Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) Page 2

  Church, meanwhile, awoke in chains, the prisoner of the Fomorii in an abandoned mine far beneath Dartmoor. With him in his cell was the fifth of the five, Ryan Veitch, a young, physically powerful man from South London who had been dragged into a life of petty crime from an early age. Vietch’s body was covered in tattoos, depicting many of the strange dreams which had troubled him all his life. But what distressed him the most was his accidental murder of a man in a building society robbery which went badly wrong, a man who, it later transpired, turned out to be Ruth Gallagher’s uncle, thus throwing them into opposition.

  Here Church and Veitch were tortured by a sickly, sadistic, half-breed Fomorii by the name of Calatin. Calatin was the leader of the main Fomorii tribe which achieved ascendancy after the long-ago destruction of the supreme, Evil power which had controlled and shaped their race. This power, as we all soon came to learn, had been known by the Celts as Balor, the one-eyed god of death, but even that description does not do justice to a force that epitomized the ultimate darkness, the ultimate evil, the end of everything. Yet Calatin’s path was not clear; there was insurgency within the ranks, and another, smaller tribe, led by a Fomorii sorcerer named Mollecht, challenged for authority. Whichsoever of them destroyed the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons and gained the four talismans would have the upper hand.

  In the cells, Church was reunited with Tom, who had been taken prisoner by the Fomorii after the events in Salisbury. With the help of the women from the Watchtower, the three prisoners escaped and continued on their quest.

  In Glastonbury, Ruth, Laura, and Shavi followed a trail of clues which eventually brought them to my attention and the secret which I and my peers had guarded for so long: the hiding place of the cauldron talisman, which I knew as the Grail, deep within Glastonbury Tor. That brief meeting with them transformed my life and prepared me for the privations which were to lie ahead; it was obvious, even to me, that they were special, that they, perhaps, were our only hope. They left for the for with my prayers.

  Church, Veitch, and Tom made their way slowly across Cornwall, where another manifestation of the dead Marianne made Church realize, for the first time, that she had not taken her own life; she had been murdered. That recognition was a turning point. Eventually they arrived at Tintagel, one of the legendary homes of King Arthur, and here Tom finally revealed Arthur was not a real person, but a symbol of something he called the Pendragon Spirit, the force that was encompassed by the blue fire and which bound the five of them together. The myths and legends were the secret history, he said; a code that was written large across the landscape.

  From under Tintagel they took the second of the talismans, the sword. Barely had they held it in their hands than they fell under attack once more, this time from Mollecht, whose dabbling with the blackest magic had transformed him into a nexus of energy which could only be contained by a constantly swirling murder of crows. Cut off on the bleak promontory, they eventually found themselves tumbling into the raging sea.

  It should have meant certain death, but they were reborn from the waves, the first of many resurrections which has served only to cement their reputation as their story became widely known. Their saviour on this occasion was Tom, a man who consistently claimed he could tell no lies, but who rarely volunteered the truth.

  His reticence masked both his true worth as a person and his abilities; he had shown before that he was a font of wisdom, but they had no idea he had a smattering of what can only be called magic; an ability to control, if only in small ways, the blue fire. As they fell to the waves, he somehow focused his mind enough to move them along the lines of energy to another powerful node of the earth force.

  And so, as Ruth, Laura, and Shavi sat atop Glastonbury Tor waiting to seek out the third talisman, they were shocked to see Church, Tom, and Veitch fall from the sky nearby, their lungs filled with sea water, on the highest point in the surrounding landlocked countryside.

  Thus the five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons assembled for the first time; and after entering Glastonbury Tor, they made their initial crossing to the other place, T’ir n’a n’Og, the Land of Always Summer, home of the gods. The third talisman was deep inside a temple guarded by a strange hall of mirrors; the reflections cast by the glass tormented the five with their worst fears, but Church battled through and seized the cauldron. If only I could have been there when they returned to Glastonbury to see the Grail, the manifestation of God’s love and power, for the first time in an age. Even though it harks back to a time before Christianity, thus disproving many of the apocryphal stories of the crucifixion, something so wonderful could only have come from God.

  But the five were not concerned with such matters; to them it was a tool to save our world. From Glastonbury, the six companions traveled into South Wales to reclaim the final talisman, the Spear of Lugh. Part of it was held in a grove of severed heads on Caldey Island near the resort of Tenby, and the spearhead was hidden underneath Manorbier Castle, which lay on a nearby headland. Once the two were joined, the task appeared to be complete, but of course the Fomorii would not cede victory in that way.

  That night the Wild Hunt attacked in earnest. The companions fought bravely, but their strength was nothing compared to the terrible supernatural power ranged against them. Finally, in a valiant act of sacrifice, Ruth launched herself at the Erl-King with the Spear of Lugh, ramming the weapon into his chest. When the two of them disappeared down a hillside into the night the others thought her dead, but Ruth had survived to witness an amazing transformation in the Erl-King. The monstrous form he had adopted as part of the Wild Hunt was just one of his aspects; he was a Golden One, one of the senior entities with an affinity for nature, whom the Celts had named Cernunnos, among many other shifting identities. He had been corrupted and controlled by the Fomorii Wish-Hex, but the Spear had freed him. In gratitude, he offered Ruth his patronage and branded her hand with his seal to mark his support.

  With the Wild Hunt departed, the storm was over, and the companions were free to continue their mission, or so they thought. The next morning the others sought provisions, leaving Laura to guard the talismans. She was attacked and left for dead by Callow, whom they had not seen since that night in the Salisbury pub. He had accepted the patronage of the Fomorii; became a quisling, a betrayer of his entire race. He took the talismans and gifted Laura a face scarred by his razor.

  Of all the players in this great game, Callow still haunts me the most. I often wonder what motivated him to throw in his lot with creatures so alien and powerful they could have crushed him in an instant. His life had been difficult, certainly, but was that justification enough for him to seek personal gratification at the expense of everyone else on the planet? It seems to me now that Callow was the antithesis of the five Brothers and Sisters of Dragons. Faced with hardship, they gave of themselves selflessly. Faced with the same choice, Callow simply did what he could for himself. There we have it, the best and worst of humanity given flesh.

  With Laura on the brink of death, the others had no choice but to take her with them in pursuit of Callow. They raced across the country and prepared to head him off in the Lake District, where the first of the great betrayals took place. And of all people, the betrayer was Tom, although he was not truly to blame. While a prisoner of the Fomorii, they had inserted a Caraprix into his head; these, as we have all since become horribly aware, are small, shape-shifting creatures with which both the Fomorii and the Tuatha De Danann have some strange relationship. In Tom’s case, it attached itself to his brain and controlled his actions, forcing him to lead the others into the hands of Calatin; all, that is, except Ruth, who escaped. Encountering a wise woman, she was shown her destiny as a controller of the powerful forces which came from the moonlit realm of the triple goddess. Within hours she had once more proved her remarkable worth by rescuing the others while Mollecht and Calatin’s tribes foolishly fought over their prisoners. With the talismans once more in their possession, they fled for Scotland.
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  But they had another problem. Only Tom knew how to use the talismans to summon the Tuatha De Danann and he was still under the control of the Caraprix. While Laura grew closer and closer to death, Tom still had enough free will to direct them to another fluid spot where they could cross over to the Far Lands, and there they met Ogma, keeper of wisdom, one of the few Golden Ones to escape the Wish-Hex. Using the medical lore he had learned from the god the Celts called Dian Cecht, he removed the Caraprix from Tom’s head and cured Laura. Here the companions also learned of the Fomorii’s true aim: to bring back Balor and thereby damn us all. Tom, too, had a revelation which shocked them all: his real identity was Thomas Learmont, a thirteenth-century landowner who became known as that famous figure of Scottish mythology, Thomas the Rhymer, after he fell through into the land of Faerie and was given mystical powers by the Queen of Faerie herself, or so the old legends said. Only the reality had been much harsher than the myth. After finding himself in T’ir n’a n’Og, Thomas had been subjected to the torments and wonders of the Tuatha De Danann, a race so far beyond us they barely noticed the suffering they were inflicting. What is understood is that he was significantly changed by his ordeal, both psychologically and physically. He received the gift of prophecy and his long life was attributable to his repeated stays in that other world where time does not flow constantly.

  There was a brief time for refreshment and revitalization which also allowed Church and Laura to consummate their long-simmering affection and then the companions returned for the summoning, which was to take place at Dunvegan Castle on the Isle of Skye.

  By the strange warping of time which takes place in the Far Lands, they arrived back on the day of their deadline, the feast of Beltane. As they headed towards the Kyle of Lochalsh for the crossing to Skye, they passed what resembled a mediaeval battlefield, slick with blood where numerous soldiers had been butchered, obviously in final battle with the Fomorii. When they arrived at the Kyle of Lochalsh, the place was in flames, all the inhabitants dead. The Fomorii had massed just across the straits on the shores of Skye, an impenetrable barrier between the companions and Dunvegan.

  The only option was to take a boat and attempt to sail around Skye to the castle on the northwest coast, but the waters were guarded by a ferocious sea serpent which could only be controlled by Shavi’s shamanistic abilities; the effort, however, scarred his mind.

  At Dunvegan, they left him in the boat while Ruth, Laura, and Tom went to summon the Tuatha De Danann. Church and Veitch were dispatched to another fluid place known as the Fairy Bridge to at least try to delay any Fomorii attack. None of the companions truly realized how devious the enemy were; they had sown the seeds of their plan long in advance. The Roisin Dubh given to Church by Marianne’s spirit was Fomorii in origin; it was the Kiss of Frost, a subtle force which gradually corrupted the holder, and Marianne, his great love, had had her spirit imprisoned and tormented by the Fomorii and used by them to manipulate him. In a battle with Calatin, Church was slain, as had been foretold in the Watchtower.

  But in this terrible new world, death was not the end. The others had succeeded in freeing the Tuatha De Danann who rushed to the bridge, driving the Fomorii away. The Cauldron of Dagda, the wondrous Grail, was brought to Church’s lips and its tremendous power gave him back his life. Reborn into the world-I shy away from saying resurrected although I wonder in years to come how this event will be seen-Church was changed in a fundamental way; some essence of the Tuatha De Danann had been instilled in him by the contact with the Grail, but he also still bore the corruption of the Fomorii, the light and the dark fighting within him.

  Then came the bitterest blow of all. Because of Church’s own weakness in allowing the Fomorii corruption into his life, the Tuatha lle Danann refused to help. Worse, the companions discovered the ones they had counted on as saviours were as devious and amoral as the foe they faced. The Tuatha lle Danann revealed their own plans had been put into effect many years ago; the Brothers and Sisters of Dragons had been manipulated throughout their lives, secretly, from beyond the barrier. To bring the Pendragon Spirit to the fore in force enough for the companions to help the Tuatha lle Danann they all had to experience death. And so the Tuatha lle Danann had controlled an agent: to murder Marianne; to slay Shavi’s boyfriend; to kill Laura’s mother; and they manipulated Veitch into killing Ruth’s uncle, which led to the death of her father. That their entire lives had been condemned at the whim of a higher power was a revelation of such abject heartlessness, it almost destroyed the five. The fact that they survived is a testament to their enduring spirit which gives me so much comfort and hope in these dark times.

  And so the Tuatha De Danann were loose in the world, untrammeled by rules, free to torment and destroy creatures they considered less than nothing. And the companions, in their despair, feared they had helped bring about that which they had attempted to stop: the destruction of everything we had built here on Earth.

  But life goes on, and hope always burns, and the companions, as we all know, did not give up. Forged by their experiences, they grew closer together, seeking strength in their very frail humanity.

  Not even the radio announcement of martial law and the Government’s tacit admission of impotence in the face of such unknown power could deter them. The Government, of course, had known all along what was happening; not exactly, I am sure, but certainly enough to convince them to stifle any media reports of the growing crisis. And so the people were left in the dark until the last, worst moment.

  But I digress once again. This is not a story about politicians or soldiers, it is about everything that is good about the human soul. About hope, and faith, and a quest for meaning in a world floundering in darkness. Perhaps it will shine a light that illuminates the way ahead. New legends for a new age.

  But now my eyes grow weak. Too much writing by flickering candle flame has taken its toll, and I dream of the time when we took for granted a burning lightbulb in every home. Yet there is much of the story still to tell: great battles, great loves, terror and wonder, intrigue and betrayal, sacrifice and death. But most of all, about what it means to be human.

  James

  Watchman

  Salisbury Cathedral

  Year One NDA (New Dark Age)

  a prologue

  life during wartime

  May 2, 8 a.m.; above the English Channel:

  “Somebody must have some idea what’s going on.” Justin Fallow fiddled uncomfortably with the miniature spirit bottles on his tray as he watched the dismal expressions sported by the air stewardesses. It was amazing how little fluctuations in the smooth-running of life were more disturbing than the big shocks. Those looks were enough to tell him something fundamental had changed; he had never seen any of them without those perfectly balanced smiles of pearly teeth contained by glossy red lipstick.

  “I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. Everything will be back to normal in a few days.” Colin Irvine stared vacuously out of the window at the fluffy white clouds. The reflection showed a craggy face and hollow cheeks that seemed older than his years. The trip to Paris had been better than expected; the business side tied up quickly, then two days of good food and fine wine, and one brisk night at a brothel. His head still felt fuzzy from the overindulgence and he would be happier if Justin shut up at least once before the plane landed.

  “Well, I wish I had your optimism.” Fallow’s public school accent was blurred by the alcohol and he was talking too loudly. He flicked back the fringe that kept falling over his eyes and snapped his chubby fingers to attract the attention of one of the stewardesses. “Over here, please. Another vodka.”

  “I like a drink as much as the next man, but I don’t know how you can get through that lot at breakfast,” Irvine said, without taking his gaze away from the clouds.

  Fallow slapped his belly. “Constitution of a horse, old chap.” When the vodka arrived, he brushed the plastic glass to one side and gulped it straight from the bottle.


  “Steady on, eh?” Irvine allowed himself a glance of distaste.

  “But what if it isn’t going to be sorted out in a few days?” Fallow drummed his fingers anxiously on the tray. “You know, we have no idea what’s going on, so how can we say? A sudden announcement that all air traffic is going to be grounded indefinitely doesn’t exactly fill one with confidence, if you know what I mean. Now that sounds serious.”

  “We were lucky to get the last flight out.”

  “I mean, the country could be on its knees in days! How will business survive?” His startled expression suggested he had only just grasped the implications of his train of thought. “Never mind your bog-standard business traveller who has to get around for meetings-they can muddle through with a few netcasts and conference calls in the short term. But what about import-export? The whole of the global economy relies on-“

  “You don’t have to tell me, Justin.”

  “You can sit there being sniffy about it, but have you thought about what it means-?”

  “It means we won’t be able to get any bananas in the shops for a while and international mail will be a bastard. Thank God for the Internet.”

  “I still think there’s more to it than you think. To take such a drastic step … Trouble is, you can’t trust those bastards in the Government to tell you anything important, whatever political stripe they are. Look at the mad cow thing. It’s a wonder we’re not all running around goggle-eyed, slavering at the mouth.”

  “You obviously didn’t look in the mirror last night-“

  “This isn’t funny. Go on, tell me why you’re so calm. What could cause something like this?”